


Stand By Me

by achiillles



Category: yuri on ice
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Hurt!Yuuri, Injury, Lots of Crying, M/M, Yuri doesn't know how to Feelings, and Viktor is just as bad, but with a little spritzle of happy at the end, character injury, gay ice boys talk about their feelings sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9211019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achiillles/pseuds/achiillles
Summary: He’d won silver, at the Grand Prix Final. Silver. It wasn’t gold, but it was closer than he’d ever gotten, and with Viktor as his coach and fiance, he was ready to take on the world.He should have known things seemed far too good to last.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wow haha I'm not sorry. Warning for vaguely described injuries, anxiety, and unnecessary use of commas.

_When the night has come_  
_And the land is dark_  
_And the moon is the only light we see_  
_No I won't be afraid_  
_No I won't be afraid_ _  
Just as long as you stand, stand by me_

 

If you asked Yuuri what the worst moment of his life was, he would give you varied answers. Wetting his pants in kindergarten. Tripping over his own feet in high school, and spilling his lunch all over himself. Vic-chan dying. Viktor Nikiforov asking if he’d like a picture, as if he were a fan. (That last one could be amended, actually, now that he knew about certain incidents that took place at the Grand Prix banquet.) But he was content now. Happy, even. He’d won silver, at the Grand Prix Final. _Silver_. It wasn’t gold, but it was closer than he’d ever gotten, and with Viktor as his coach and fiance, he was ready to take on the world.

 

He should have known things seemed far too good to last.

 

You tend to think of weird things, when you’re hurt. Shock is one hell of a drug, and all Yuuri can think of right now is how _dirty_ the street is. Trash flattened by tires litter the sides of the street, even in the snow. Littering doesn’t stop even in winter, he guesses. Snow melts and soaks his hair, and he can feel the cold seeping through his coat and into his skin, settling deep into his bones, making him shake. His glasses are broken to hell; he can see one of the lenses sitting in front of his face, in the snow. Damn. That’s going to be a bitch to replace. Sounds suddenly come rushing back to him, and there’s shouting. A language he can’t understand, two people? Three? He waits longer and realizes it’s Russian, which would make sense, because he’s currently in St. Petersburg. He can’t remember for the life of him what he was doing though, he just knows that his face is going numb and there’s a dull throb in his leg that he didn’t know was there before. But now that he’s paying attention, it soars up and seemingly grasps him, hard,  by the knee, throttling him to the core and making him gasp out in a mix of surprise, of pain.

 

This is when he starts trying to move, because everything is coming back to him in a rush that makes him dizzy (or maybe that was the impact of his skull on pavement.) The crosswalk. A red light. The sound of tires squealing, the scent of burnt rubber, the crunch of broken glass and bone. He opens his mouth again to croak out a pained, hoarse cry. Yuuri’s head is throbbing, his body aching, and he knows that something is _wrong._ He looks down through the one cracked lense of his glasses and a sob rips from him when he sees his leg, it’s mangled and the snow is red and oh, god, does he see bone? His vision is going spotty and terror is making him wheeze, people are approaching him and he wants to shout at them, to tell them to get away from him, to get help, to stop _gawking_ at him like they hit a deer and not a person. There’s more arguing in Russian and it looks like one of them is on the phone, hopefully with the police, because Yuuri’s eyelids are heavy and he can no longer tell the difference between the snow on his face and his tears. The last thought that crosses Yuuri’s mind before he passes out is of Viktor, and how disappointed he’ll be if he can’t skate with him anymore.

 

\\(*´♡`*)/

_“Tibial Plafond Compound Fracture.”_

 

Yuuri stares numbly at the cast encasing his leg and feels his heart drop into his stomach. Viktor and his doctor exchange words in Russian, and then again in English. He doesn’t even blink as the doctor explains the extent of the injury in English so he can understand, his words fading into nothingness; white noise. He vaguely registers Viktor’s voice asking tentative questions, the grip on his hand white knuckled and tense. Words float up and break through the fog of his mind, increasing the dread that sits in the pit of his stomach like a burdensome rock. Arthritis. Physical Therapy. Months of recovery. He hears Viktor’s accented words raise the question he was dreading, and he feels his hand squeeze his fiance’s in response.

 

“I’m afraid not, no.”

 

It’s like everything in Yuuri’s life was leading up to this point, this moment in his life where he’s given everything he could ever possibly want, and then it’s ripped away as life laughs in his shocked face.

He feels his shoulders shake and he doesn’t register he’s crying until the tears hit the hospital blankets on his lap, hot and heavy where they wet the fabric. He’s sure he hears the door open and close again, it’s probably the doctor leaving to give them space, but he doesn’t care. He can’t care. Viktor awkwardly squeezes his shoulder and lets out a forced laugh. “Don’t worry, Yuuri..” He murmurs, and Yuuri can hear it in his voice, he’s not sure what to say. “You can still cheer for me-”

 

That’s when he loses it. He yanks his hand from Viktor’s and covers his face, his sobs harsh and ugly. He curls in on himself as much as he can without disturbing his leg, and the realization that he has to even _do_ that makes him cry even harder. He doesn’t know what to do, and Viktor doesn’t know what to say. The thick, stunned silence hangs in the air until Yuuri chokes on it, anxiety and dread caught up in his throat. Viktor wraps his arms around his shoulders tightly, and his body heat seeps into him, but snow sticks to the window by the bed and Yuuri feels like he’s still outside, laying in the middle of the frozen pavement, cold and damaged.

 

\\(*´♡`*)/

 

Yuuri can’t decide what’s worse: being treated like he’s made out of glass, like he might shatter at the slightest bump, or being given hope that he knows is useless and false. He won’t be able to return to skating, this much he knows. The realization finally settled in after having to be helped to the bathroom for the 3rd time that day. He cried himself empty after the first 3 days, and his head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton. He came to St. Petersburg full of hope and excitement, itching out of his skin to start a new life with Viktor and Makkachin, hell, even with Yuri. A humorless snort makes it’s way out of him, and he realizes that it’s the first sound he’s made in days. Even his sobs have been pathetic, whimpering little things, since he got home from the hospital. Now he sits with his head between his hands, clamping over his ears to block out the eerie quiet of Viktor’s condo. Aforementioned man had left to go pick up dinner (since he couldn’t cook for shit) and now, Yuuri was left alone with his thoughts.

 

That was never good.

 

He was useless. He couldn’t skate now, and it was only a matter of time before Viktor left him. He could see it in his eyes, the uncertainty, the doubt. God only knows what he’ll do now. Besides be the laughing stock of the skating world. ‘Show all of Russia his love’, yeah, right. Show all of Russia his inability be a competent human adult. His career was over. Done. Finished, right when he was finally, _finally_ getting somewhere, right when he was finally _happy._ Now he’s lost everything, and all he can do is sit and waste away while Viktor moves on, while he continues to be everything Yuuri had aspired to be, everything he’s ever wanted and more. He loves him. But that won’t be enough to make him stay. Not this time.

 

\\(*´♡`*)/

 

The door opens and Yuuri realizes how wrong he feels. In the wrong bed, the wrong house, in the wrong city, in the wrong _country._ He doesn’t belong here with Viktor, in his home and in his bed like he’s supposed to bt there. He tenses when Viktor approaches him, peeling off his scarf and coat, a hopeful expression on his face. He’s still hoping that Yuuri will talk to him, will smile at him, will say more than one syllable answers. “Yuuri?” The sound of his voice makes Yuuri want to cry all over again, and he fists his hands in the bedsheets beside his thighs. “Viktor,” He starts, and looks down. He doesn’t want to see the delight in Viktor’s face; it’s the first time he’s initiated a conversation in days. “We both know I won’t be able to skate again. I know you’re doing it for my sake, but I can’t-” He choked on his words and made the mistake of glancing up to see Vitkor wear his confusion like a second skin. He might actually cry. “I can’t keep pretending like everything will be okay. I can’t just pretend that this doesn’t change things, like this doesn’t change _everything,_ Viktor, I know how much you love skating and I would never take that from you-” At this point he’s just babbling, hot tears building up in his eyes and making his vision blurry until they spill over and down his cheeks. But he doesn’t want to move to wipe them away, because Viktor isn’t moving, he’s not saying anything, and Yuuri _knew_ it, and he’s sure he feels his heart break a little more.  
  
“Yuuri!” Viktor has dropped down to his knees in front of him and Yuuri stares at him in surprise, noting the tears that Viktor has in his own eyes. “Yuuri, Yuuri, любимый, I would _never_ -” He reaches up to cup his face and Yuuri can’t breathe. “You mean more to me than- both our hearts are broken, but how could-” He made a wounded noise. “How could you think I would leave you?” He stumbled over his own words in his haste to interrupt, to tell Yuuri how wrong he was. He didn’t know how to _fix_ this, this was a problem he couldn’t laugh and skate his way through. He scrambled up to sit on the bed next to Yuuri, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a fierce hug. “You are…” He spoke slowly, and chose his words carefully. “So much more than skating, Yuuri.” Yuuri felt his tears fall quicker, wetting the cotton of Viktor’s shirt. “I fell in love with your heart, and…...and the way you put it into everything you loved. Yes, your skating was beautiful, but who _you_ are was what made me love you.”

 

Yuuri pulled back to stare at Viktor for a long time, heart clenching where it sat in his chest. And then it all came crashing down on him, the pressure, the disappointment, the white hot _anger_ , the pure helplessness. He clutched at Viktor and sobbed, loud and heavy, fingers shaking as they gripped at the back of his fiance’s shirt. “I’m sorry-” He choked out in between gasps of air, feeling so very strung out and so very exhausted. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t do it, I thought-” Viktor cradled his head, and Yuuri felt teardrops hit his own shoulder. “Viktor?...” He felt him hum in response, and he sniffled once, twice, before speaking again. “I’m sorry I made you cry again.” Viktor’s shocked laugh was enough to make him feel a little bit stronger. Just enough to get through the day.

 

\\(*´♡`*)/

***3 Months Later***

 

Yuuri turned his cane around in his hand, looking out at the ocean quietly. They’d be visiting Yakov today, and it would be the first time that Yuuri had set foot on the ice rink since the accident. He could literally feel the anxiety chewing up at him, starting with his feet and gnawing its way up. Physical Therapy was a bitch; sometimes he would get so frustrated he’d just cry. But through every step of the way, Viktor was there. So far, that was the only constant. And Yuuri could only hope that it would stay that way. He knew he wouldn’t be returning to the ice. Not ever, and the realization had long since sunk in. But now, where it used to be a sharp jab underneath his ribs, it was a dull, throbbing ache in his chest. Nothing he could do about it, though. All he could do, was wait. Makkachin barked from behind him and tore him out of his thoughts, and he turned slightly to let the poodle lick at his hand. Careful not to slip, (and undo the past few months of PT), Yuuri walked over to where Viktor waited, having given him space to think. The question was clear in Viktor’s eyes. ‘Better?’. “Some days are harder than others,’ he admit. ‘But I’m getting somewhere. I don’t know where, but it’s somewhere.” He slotted himself easily underneath Viktors arm and they walked at his pace, slowly but surely, through the melting snow and slush. There was no magical fix-all. There wasn’t a special button Yuuri or Viktor could press, that would make everything okay again. Things were as okay as they would be, for right now, and Yuuri would take what he could get. As long as Viktor was there, right by him, things didn’t seem so scary.

 

 _And darling, darling stand by me_  
_Oh, now, now, stand by me_  
_Stand by me, stand by me_

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from Florence + The Machine's "Stand By Me"


End file.
